A Way Out of the Prophecy
by Vividpast
Summary: "The prophets do not lie. And Arthur will meet his end on this mighty plain. Just not today. Not for a very long time." In which Merlin finds a way out the prophecies and he will do whatever it takes to correct his mistakes; whatever the cost. May or may not have character death. Why don't you read and find out?


**Warnings:** May or may not have character death. Why don't you read and find out? ;)

**Pairings: **None, just pure friendship. But if you are wearing slash goggles, I guess Arthur/Merlin

**Rating:** For all ages! I guess.

**Genre:** Friendship, Drama, Angst

**A/N:** For those waiting for my other fic, I'M SORRY. This won't leave my mind and I can't not write this.

This is nothing extraordinary but I enjoyed writing it! Plus, this was actually going to be a thank-you gift for someone in tumblr (in which some of you good people have convinced me to join XD) but, well, I guess I chickened out.

**Disclaimer: **If I was a scriptwriter of Merlin, this would be my ending. But sadly, I think this is far from possible.

Enjoy, dearies~

_Let loose the hounds of war_

_Let the dread fire of the last priestess_

_Rain down from angry skies_

_For brother will slaughter brother_

_For friend will murder friend_

_As a great horn sounds of cold dawn at Camlann_

_The prophets do not lie_

_There, Arthur will meet his end_

_Upon that mighty plain_

_. . . . . ._

The mighty roars of battle deafened all who listened. The ringing of swords, the cries of despair, the strangled last breaths of fatally wounded knights and the sizzle of magic in the air filled the wide endless plain. Blood and fire rained down upon the battling soldiers who were aware that every breath could be their last.

Amidst the chaos, there stood a blonde warrior, clad in his protective chainmail. Exhaustion and desperation marred his face but his stance never weakened, fighting for what he believed in determinedly. His blade swung in an arc and he killed the enemy in an instant.

A few remaining knights dressed with Camelot's red cloak stood in a defensive position around the blonde warrior, ready to protect him from any danger he might not anticipate.

Sweat and blood that were thankfully not their own covered their whole body. They knew the chances of them surviving this battle were slim to none. None the less, they fought with all their might, hoping that each moment they did make a difference for the future of the kingdom.

. . . . . . . . . .

He was bound—bounded by an invisible force. He struggled desperately, hoping that by some miracle the spell would dissolve.

People are dying. He could hear their screams even from where he was. He should be out there. Damn it, he should be fighting along with the idiot that would get himself killed if he wasn't there.

His eyes widened in realization. The battle at Camlann was where . . . . .

"No." He forced his arms and legs to move but to no avail. "NO!"

. . . . . . . . . .

"Spread out!" the blonde ordered after defeating another Saxon.

The knights turned to him, protests upon their lips.

The blonde shook his head and stared at them, his blue eyes full of righteous authority. "We'll be able to defeat more if we spread out."

"Sire, if you—" Perceival started but was stopped by a hand on his shoulders.

"I can manage on my own."

He gave each knight an undecipherable look, his blue eyes turning a different shade against the harsh light of the fires.

"Go." He ordered. "Good luck."

"You better not die while we're gone, Queenie." Gwaine said, the seriousness of his tone belying his jesting words.

There was a slight upturn of the corners of the blonde's lips.

Hesitantly, the knights went on their separate ways.

. . . . . . . . . .

He cursed and cursed and cursed. This wasn't supposed to happen. He screamed for help, hoping that there was someone nearby who could free him. He screamed until his voice broke.

Unsurprisingly, no one came.

. . . . . . . . . .

The blonde warrior grunted as he pulled out his blade from the Saxon's body. The corpse lay unmoving in the ground. The muscles in his arm and hands were sore. His knees threatened to buckle from exhaustion and his whole body felt like it was on fire.

Then, he felt it. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled with an uneasy sensation. He turned to look at source of the feeling.

Mordred.

The young knight was making his way towards him, venom evident in his eyes. Mordred's movements spoke of hate and want of vengeance. The blonde stared as he approached, silently wondering how it had come to this; how could he have made the wrong decisions.

The young knight swiftly swung his sword towards him. The blonde barely managed to parry the attack. The clanging of both blades made the blonde's ears ring. Mordred glared and the blonde knew what was coming next. He had come to expect it, after all.

Tired as he was, he wasn't able to block the jab that made the fatal wound.

. . . . . . . . . .

He felt it.

He felt the moment everything came crumbling down. They were connected by a bond weaved by the years and for a brief second, he felt the phantom pain went through his stomach.

Tears came unbidden and a sob tore through his throat. Oh gods, why couldn't he have prevented this? Why did his friend have to pay for the mistakes he did?

He should have been the one out there dying, not _him_.

. . . . . . . . . .

The blonde dropped to his knees, shock momentarily overshadowing the enormous pain. He stared up at his killer.

Mordred's look was cold and unmerciful. _You deserve this_, it said. There was neither smugness nor happiness in his expression, just coldness.

"You," he croaked out, a shaky breath leaving him, "are a fool, Mordred."

Then, the blonde's blue orbs turned a golden hue.

The young knight managed to gasped out a "How! ?" before his neck snapped to the side and he knew no more.

The blonde warrior stared at the unmoving body, feeling a slight pity for the Druid but glad that he was dead once and for all.

He felt his own body shifting and changing. The broad shoulders and torso transformed into a lithe and skinny one. Tanned skin paled into a pasty gray. Golden locks darkened and finally, startlingly blue eyes turned to blue-gray ones.

He gasped as the agonizing pain hit him full force. _No matter_, he thought. It didn't matter if he died. He had fulfilled his mission and protected his best friend.

With that realization, he felt his body relax and he collapsed onto the hard ground.

. . . . . . . . . .

The enchantment binding him was fading. The magic was skittering on his skin like a gentle caress.

"No, no, no!" he shouted as the spell completely dissolved.

Had it happened a few hours ago, he would have been happy. He would have been able to join the battle. But now, its absence signifies that the spell caster was dying, if not already dead.

Like he had hell on his heels, he ran out of the chambers.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Merlin? Merlin?"

He blearily opened his eyes. Moments later, the dark figure above him came to focus. "G-Gwaine?"

"Yeah." The knight gave a small smile. "Just hold on, alright? The others will be coming with help."

Gwaine was pressing hard on his wound, hoping to stop the bleeding.

"What were you even doing out here?" Gwaine frowned, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

The warlock knew it was futile. He put his trembling hands on top of the knight's bloodied ones. Gwaine turned to look at him.

"Gwaine, lis-listen." He managed to gasp out. "I won't make it."

A helpless expression came to the knight's face. "Mer—"

"No, I—" he coughed, jarring his wounds. He grimaced in pain, blood trickling at the corner of his mouth.

Gwaine looked confused and anxious. "Merlin, just—just save your strength, mate. We'll talk later."

The warlock gave a sad smile. "No, Gwaine. We won't."

The corners of his vision were starting to blacken and the world was tilting dangerously. He knew his time was nearing.

"The prophets do not lie. And Arthur will meet his end on this mighty plain. Just not today. Not for a very long time." His eyes brightened at the thought. He grabbed the knight's chainmail and pulled him closer.

"Tell Arthur that . . . that . . ."

. . . . . . . . . .

He was running as fast as he could. He had to make it. He had to see and scold that idiot for pulling something like this.

Then, he felt something snapped. Inside him, he felt something die and wither away. He halted his steps in shock and fear of what it meant.

In the wind, or perhaps it was in his mind, he heard a whisper of a small voice.

_I'm sorry and thank you. For everything._

_. . . . . . . . . ._

**Good? Bad? Too cliche? Any wrong spelling? Grammatical errors?**

**Constructive criticisms are hugged and invited to dinner! Flames are alright as long as you don't hurt anybody else!**

**Have a very nice and awesome day, everyone!**

**~Vividpast**


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